I tugged on my short-sleeve white maternity shirt but it wouldn’t cover the bottom of my growing belly. I wore colorful leggings and flats that squeezed my swelling, sockless feet. Fighting to raise my shoulders and chin, I walked into my high school on the first day of my senior year.
People’s heads aimed away but their eyes stole clandestine peeks at my belly. When I accidentally met their glances, they would look away and carry on. I was just entering my third trimester. That was almost thirty-two years ago.
People in my high school were very kind to me, but I still felt insecure. Selfishly, one of the things that kept my head above water was the fact that I was not a parenting pioneer in my school. I had others to lean on, ones from before.
I had Tyler in December with Johnny Carson playing in the background. I took a few weeks off then finished my senior year. After that, I worked full time at a local grocery story, then started working full time at a bank in Springfield, all the while missing my little boy.
Sometimes I channel that girl, my inner child of seventeen, and tap into her strength when I need some. It’s second-to-none, but I do wish she was not so stingy with it. I supposed rationing is the best bet anyway.
Teresa Forester Adams 